


We Will Rise Again

by makesometime



Series: Returned to Me at the End [3]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And I've at least tried to address that, F/M, Joseph did some fucked up shit, Past Character Death, Pregnancy, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:59:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: Yet… Joseph's eyes have not strayed. He is building no harem behind her back. His attention, and affection, is solely hers.And that makes her feel incredibly powerful.Pride, no doubt, colours her bearing as she walks through Joseph's house. Lust, to be sure, when she sees him approaching the door, his shirt absent as ever. And Greed? It goes without saying.





	We Will Rise Again

**Author's Note:**

> Another humble offering alongside the talented masses writing Far Cry 5 fanfic right now. I've been more inspired for this fandom than I have for any in a long while, thank you all for keeping the cogs turning. Title taken from a piece on one of the Far Cry 5 soundtracks.

Rook has taken to spending most of her mornings with Faith, when she is not needed elsewhere. (This happens more and more frequently as the days pass by. There is no one left to turn to the cause, no more Resistance to snuff out. The realisation leaves her cold, more often than not, and she's not sure what that says about her now.)

The early morning light makes the younger woman look even more ethereal than usual as they wander side by side through fields of Bliss. The scent tickles at Rook’s nose, but Faith assures her each time that it will not have any effect.

_You have nothing to fear, Sister._

The voice is in her head as much as it isn't but Rook just smiles, linking her arm with the woman beside her. 

If she's honest, she hasn't allowed herself a quiet moment to stop to think since she arrived in Hope County. To really consider. If anything, she's run away from opportunities, taken any distraction going. Her life has changed in countless ways over the past few weeks, and if she lingers on what she left behind to embrace this new life the doubt will surely set in… 

Faith rests her head against Rook’s upper arm, _humming a soft hymn_. 

Rook loses her train of thought quickly, caught up in the gentle tune that so easily dances on their air around them. She folds her hand flat just above her belt and continues to walk. There's a change in pitch of her companion's singing and she glances down to see Faith smiling, broadly. 

The woman twirls away, leaving Bliss flowers in her wake. Rook simply smiles and watches. Her thumb rubs her stomach through her shirt and she turns on the spot, the Montana countryside spread out before her in pure, uncontaminated beauty. 

Perhaps it's just that simple. Perhaps this is just where she’s meant to be. 

#

When the Reckoning comes (and it is terrifying how quickly that thought turned from _if_ to _when_ in her thoughts) Rook assumes the siblings will retreat to separate bunkers. There are too many of them in the Project now to fit into one space, though it makes her heart oddly heavy to imagine losing her new family so soon after finding them. 

In the months, years even, that await at the end of it all, each sibling will have to consider their responsibility to God. John and Jacob will take a wife, likely several mistresses. Spreading their Seed for a new world - as crass as it sounds in her head, the necessity is undeniable.

And then Faith. Rook feels distinctly uncomfortable to imagine the youngest Seed taking on the same role as she has envisioned for herself. 

But there is no doubt Faith will feel the need to share the burden. 

The young woman smiles softly as this thought crosses Rook’s mind, taking her hand. 

“Do not worry, Sister. It is a gift.”

Though it may hurt a part of her that she has yet to reconcile, Rook has always assumed that Joseph will undertake the same obligations as his brothers. The Father, shepherding his flock. Seeing himself in them all. 

Yet… Joseph's eyes have not strayed. He is building no harem behind her back. His attention, and affection, is solely hers. 

And that makes her feel incredibly powerful. 

Pride, no doubt, colours her bearing as she walks through Joseph's house. Lust, to be sure, when she sees him approaching the door, his shirt absent as ever. And Greed? It goes without saying. 

Joseph greets her with open arms and a simple press of his forehead to hers, whispering a piece of scripture that she is far from familiar with. She really should spend more of her time studying the Book of Joseph, and less cavorting with Faith. 

She takes her own advice when he leaves her to take an evening sermon with some of the doubting faithful. When he returns home afterwards, weary and rubbing a hand over tired eyes, he finds her in their bed with his Book open in her lap. 

That evening, he takes her from behind as she reads his words aloud, rewarding the steadiness of her oration with deeper thrusts, roaming hands. She praises His word with her own kind of sermon, her own kind of worship. 

And God, in his wisdom, sees fit to reward them. 

#

Rook makes little more than a passing note of the changes as the weeks of waiting... fearing... hoping… slowly bleed into months. With the pressure of handling Joseph’s moods as days pass by with no sign of the Collapse and urging calm amongst her newfound friends, she successfully ignores each and every one. 

The stress of her life’s upheaval has surely been responsible for the disruption to her cycle. 

Joseph's hands must have been too rough with her breasts during their frenzied lovemaking the previous evening. 

With making the most of their fresh crops and wildlife while still able to do so, she's been eating well and it shows on her body. 

Still, the changes niggle in a part of her brain that knows better than to dismiss so easily. Rook pauses in front of the mirror one morning after her shower, dropping her towel and turning this way and that as she casts a critical eye over her figure. In truth, she must acknowledge that there is an unmistakable swell between her hip bones that wasn’t there before. Her breasts are, at a glance, marginally larger as the letters of her tattoo start to spread... 

It is only Joseph’s reaction that cements her swirling thoughts. He comes up behind her and she watches his face in the mirror, see his eyes wide, his lips parted in prayer.

He stares their reflections as settles his hand over her stomach, reverentially clenching his fingers. The tattoo of her face meets her skin. Rook gasps, her knees turning to jelly as the full weight of realisation hits. She turns her face into his throat and feels his faint chuckle, unable in the moment to divine its reason. 

Too soon his laughter turns to tears, deep heaving breaths and shaking hands. His eyes remain fixed on the curve of her stomach even as she wills him to look at her, _please_ , look at her. Make this real.

He drops heavily to his knees, turning her to face him with hands flat over her hips. 

“ _This time._ ” He murmurs, forehead pressed to her skin. “ _This time._ ”

His tears wet her stomach as she strokes her hand over his hair, letting him sob, letting him beg. She doesn't understand what he means with his words, his pleas and promises. 

At her core she is still a coward. So she does not ask. 

#

The broadcasts on the radio pick up speed as she enters what they’ve estimated to be her fourth month of pregnancy. It becomes apparent to them all that Joseph’s faith is about to be rewarded. But as time ticks on, he withdraws from her. 

He spends more time praying, less time with his siblings. Rook picks up the slack where she can, but with so much else to contend with, her frustrations start to take precedence. She insists, one evening, when he tries to initiate something more intimate than she is willing to give, that he tell her what’s on his mind.

And he does. _Oh_ , he does.

Joseph speaks to her of the child he killed, recounting the moment with chilling clarity. It's the closest she's come to fearing him since she arrived.

_A part of her soul cries out in agony. Not understanding. Not accepting._

Rook has little choice than to find some sort of justification. It rattles around in her head for days, her hand never leaving her stomach. She is pregnant here at the end of the world, committed to the man who ended the life of part of himself, for what? A promise of something greater? 

_It was part of God's plan._

Rook curses, pushing past concerned faces and walking across the compound, avoiding the barrels of Bliss. She knows she has a guard, now, too ‘precious’ to be allowed an iota of freedom. So she walks, instead, for the church. 

Stepping inside, she makes a path up the aisle, hesitating at the front row as she hears her unwelcome companions take a seat in the back. They won't risk trouble here, they will give her space as they turn to their own moments of reflection. It's a callous misuse of the holy building, but her hands are figuratively tied. 

Rook holds her growing stomach with both hands, looking up at the cross on the wall. What guarantee does she have that this child will be born safely? Though their medical facilities appear questionable, who knows what resources they have buried away in preparation. 

And, should she make it through labour and delivery, must she really base her - _their_ \- survival on the assertions of a man who has shown such disregard for his own flesh and blood in the past? 

She ducks her head, whispers a soft prayer that in years gone by would have felt more like a moment of blasphemy. Here and now, she has to believe. It all depends on her faith.

She feels his presence behind her and smiles, a gentle tug at the corners of her lips. Despite it all, she does feel safer with him around. Her inner turmoil lessens in his presence. He places his hand against her lower back and she leans into his side, the warmth of his skin soothing her.

“Why did you do it?” She asks.

“Sit with me, child.” Joseph applies a gentle pressure to her back and guides her to a pew.

It is no coincidence to her that they will have this talk here, in the church where she came to him for answers, _Envy_ fresh on her skin. 

The morning light pools in bright circles on the wooden floor, drawing her gaze as she settles her weight down. Joseph joins her, choosing for once to keep his hands to himself. She’s grateful, for that. It allows her to think with a clearer head.

“When you arrived in my flock, I believed God’s Will to be as simple as returning you to me.” He says, eyes fixed on the cross. “I know better now. He is giving me back everything I sacrificed to make us ready. To give my family all of this.”

“She was your daughter. You took that part of you, and hell, that part of _me_. And you saw fit to destroy her life.”

In her periphery she sees Joseph slide the aviators from his face, fold his hands in his lap. “He told me it was necessary. I was blinded by grief and he guided my hand.”

“And if he told you to do the same to me. To our child.” Rook pauses, turning her eyes to him for the first time since he entered the church. “Would you do it?”

“We have won, child. It is only a matter of time. There is no more left to prove. No more left to sacrifice.” He winds his fingers around her wrist, drawing her hand palm-up towards his mouth. He speaks into her skin. “I am assured. Your place is here with me, at the end.”

He hasn't answered her question. She knows it. She could push and push and push him for a committal until she's blue in the face...

But love is a powerful motivator. And she _does_ love Joseph. 

They walk out of the church together, his arm around her waist. Rook allows him to guide her back to their home and makes love to him with tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. He kisses them away and she smiles, tangling her hand in his unbound hair and pressing her lips to his with a desperate need that draws an answering groan from deep in his chest. 

She clenches around him and accepts his spend, biting down on the crook of his neck when he groans her name in a broken oath. Her tongue traces the wound her teeth leave behind, savouring the hint of copper on her tongue. 

They will go on to the end from here, shared fates and shared footsteps towards Eden’s Gate. He will bear her mark, as she bears his.

And she will do whatever it takes to ensure their child’s survival.


End file.
